Phototaxis
This must
be the punch
line; bruised
knuckles
crush mouth your
body soft
against the floor:
nightly, insects gather
at your bedlight drinking
gold, wings scorched
vampiric humming
blisters snug
against your neck
by morning. Your teeth
are bleeding
& I worry
at the wound. Inside,
a moth has laid
her eggs,
ruined cashmere
slung
over my shoulder,
sleepless.
Tonight we are the thick
in this slice
of light, in sex scent,
insect swarm.
Gemini Remember Their Father
I am sorry for deceiving you. When
I shed my feathers, I am just a naked bird-
god; just the shell of the egg. I can almost see
it, now; tremors under translucent skin, pockets
where the light passed through.
When the crack comes, transverse sliver like
the jagged mouth of an open quarry, I
tumble out, dark gold hair, wetly screaming,
insensible to the heavy teeth of a crown.
Or maybe that was you? The godbird sleeping
in your blood, our siblings stirring
in their yolks, our father’s yellow
eyes watching. What little good he saw in mortal
offspring: twins limned by the divine. I
can still feel his gaze in shadows, knowing
he is deceiving us; knowing he is deceived.
Arah Ko is a writer living on an active volcano. Her work has appeared in Ruminate, Rust+Moth, and SIREN, amoung others. When not writing, she can be found correcting her name pronunciation, counting constellations, and contemplating the meaning of life, other than 42.